Uncertain Future

Expanding my painterly palette.  You may remember the photograph from which this took shape.  She was one of those who came to the studio over and over and over again.  I decided to try something akin to Frida Kahlo in A.I. and thought this came out pretty nice.  I had begun with a version by Frida's husband, the rotund mound of frescos, Diego Rivera.  

Not sure how Rivera-like it is, but some hints are the larger proportions of the arm and hand, and the more campesina looking face.  Now, what is interesting is this.

This was the first Frida-like version it produced before I asked to orient the figure in portrait rather than landscape.  It is closer to the photo in dress.  You see, in the first two versions I posted, A.I. added white underwear.  There were none in the original photo nor in this illustration.  And so. . . the fickleness of A.I. censorship.  

I am beginning to remember, though only slightly, my former life's routines.  I managed a painful long walk after visiting my mother in the hospital.  After showering, I sat down and played in A.I.  I wrote some things for my Substack, too.  Then I made a liquor store run for gin and headed up to see my mother.  

When I got there, I got a call from the case manager.  They were moving my mother to the rehab facility today.  The time was not set.  The rehab center would be in charge of transportation.  I told my mother.  She looked at me with horrified eyes.  

"You're kidding!" she said.  She looked like she was going to tear up.  

"You can't stay here forever.  They are giving you the boot.  Where did you think you were going.  You agreed to go to rehab.  I picked the nicest place in town, and it is close to your house.  Your friends will be able to come see you."

Her eyes went from shock to resignation.  We sat in silence for a bit.  She ate some chocolate and I peeled a tangerine for her.  When she had eaten that, she said she needed to go to the bathroom.  She called the nurse.  When the nurse came, she told me that my mother would be leaving tomorrow.  She didn't know what time.  

O.K.  So that is where we are.  Now I am wondering if she will get better and good enough to come back home.  I have a feeling now that that is our future.  Mine and hers.  I am riding a wild roller coaster, up and down, turning sideways left and right.  

When my mother had finished her bathroom duties and was back in bed, I looked at her phone.  She had some messages.  I asked her if she wanted to call back my cousin.  

"Yes."

I listened to the conversation, my mother's slow responses.  Most were semi-accurate.  When she hung up, she began calling others to tell them she was leaving the hospital for rehab the next day.  It was more of the same, my mother speaking in a slow, tired voice.  

When I left the hospital, I tried to be cheery.  

"O.K. mother, tomorrow the Great Adventure begins!"

She just nodded.  

A quick stop at the grocers for some ground beef.  I was making a ground beef and garbanzo bean dinner that night.  I got the rice cooking and then, gin in hand, made a Negroni.  I sat down and watched a documentary on Clara Bow by that neuropsychiatrist who has a YouTube channel that is pretty good.  Bow's life was, of course, tragic.  I think you can actually use that word here, for she was the darling of the American public until scandal hit, and her fall was resounding.  The rest of her life did not go as well. She was in and out of hospitals, mostly psychiatric, and most interesting to me, was addicted to Nembutal.  My god. . . those were the days!

She died at sixty.  

Negroni gone, I got to work slicing up garlic, green pepper, and red onion.  I heated olive oil in the smaller Dutch oven and dropped the mixture in.  Then the garbanzo beans with the liquid.  I stirred it all from time to time, and in about five or six minutes, I dropped in the ground beef seasoned with salt, pepper, cumin, and chili powder.  How much?  Beats me.  I just shook in what felt appropriate.  When the ground beef was almost cooked, I dropped in a can of Italian seasoned stewed tomatoes.  

In a little while, I filled the bottom of a big bowl with rice and spooned the ground beef and garbanzo bean mixture over the top.  

H-O-L-Y  S-H-I-T!!!!  

This had to be the best thing I'd ever eaten in my life.  I couldn't believe how good it was.  

Then I got the fear.  Nothing was measured.  It was all intuitive, but I was afraid I couldn't count on that again.  I may never be able to replicate the taste.  The thought was devastating.  

I made a second bowl.  

And that, my friends, was the highlight of the day.  

Today I must meet the house cleaner at my mother's at nine.  I will attempt a moment at the gym after that.  I will not be at the hospital for the transfer.  I am going to let my mother weather that alone since I do not know when it will happen.  Later, I will go see my mother in her new digs.  The place is luxurious.  My mother has been there for visits many times.  She knows.  

Still. . . the fear.  

I've been asked what to call these A.I. creations.  They are illustrations after a manner.  I like them.  It takes time to make them and get them right, but doggone it. . . I think they are swell.  

In the future, I will have some other surprises for you, too.  I hope.  I'm not sure there is even a platform I can link them to to show them here.  There is still much to be done.  

This is the music that has been getting me through my transits all about town.  Unbelievably, I have put over a thousand miles on my mother's car traveling no more than five or ten miles at a time.  Were it not for the music, I'd be mad.  Rather. . . .